


A plethora of personalities

by YvonneSilver



Category: Leverage
Genre: Alcohol, Canon Compliant, Gen, Pre-Season/Series 01, all of Sophie's alterego's
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-17
Updated: 2020-01-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:00:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22289806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YvonneSilver/pseuds/YvonneSilver
Summary: The backstory behind: "I’ve seen Sophie play a dozen people. Drunk."
Relationships: Sophie Devereaux & Jim Sterling
Comments: 10
Kudos: 64





	A plethora of personalities

“I can’t believe you let her get away.” Sterling said, sinking into the chair next to the hospital bed.

“Well, she sort of shot me,” Nate answered matter-of factly, seeming almost pleased by that fact. That might be the pain-killers though.

“Still.”

“And I did manage to graze her too. That’s closer than anyone’s managed to get so far.”

“And yet she’s still galivanting about Europe,” Sterling said, settling back in his chair. If Nate was back to bragging about his achievements, he wasn’t as hurt as Sterling had feared. “By the way, top brass ays you’re off the case.”

“What?” Nate sat up too fast, and winced at the fresh bolt of pain that shot through his shoulder. He lowered himself gingerly back onto his pillows. 

“Come on, what did you expect?” Sterling said. “Were you planning to track her from your hospital bed?“

“Well…”

Sterling sat forward, eagerly. Of course, of course, Nate was always thinking a couple of moves ahead. “Well what? Spill it, Ford.”

He found her exactly where Nate predicted she would be. So Nate wasn’t losing his touch; she must be especially cunning to have outwitted him anyway. Sterling was looking forward to the challenge. He made sure to stand right next to her when he ordered his drink. She took the bait straight away.

“Is that a British tongue I hear?”

“Aye, it is,” Sterling said, smiling.

“Oh, it’s good to hear someone from home. I’ve been in France for so long I’ve almost forgotten what my own accent sounds like. Would you mind a bit of chit-chat?”

“Not at all, allow me introduce myself. I’m James Ford.”

“James, how nice to meet you. I’m Christy Connelly.” 

“Christy, what a lovely name. Shall we grab a table?”

“Oh, yes, good idea.” She took her glass of red wine with her, and they settled at a table.

“So tell me, Christy, what do you do?”

“Oh, I’m a museum curator.”

“Really?” Sterling smiled to himself. It’d be interesting to try and poke holes into that cover identity.

They talked for a while, Sterling told her he was a banker on business in France for a week, a cover she seemed to buy. As for ‘Christy’, she seemed to have a pretty well-developed back story. He wondered how much of it might be true.

Suddenly, ‘Christy’ sat up. “I’m sorry, I can’t keep up the charade any more,” she said, her voice taking on a completely different tone. “I mean, my Bri’ish accent isn’t that good, is it?” 

“You… You’re American?” Sterling said, flabberghasted. None of their research into the art-thief had indicated she was American.

“Got me,” she said, putting her hands up. “I’m sorry, I just love the way British sounds, like, seriously, I’m weak for your accents. But I’m actually from New England.”

“Is your name even Christy?” He squinted at her, playing up his confusion in the hopes of getting more anwers out of her.

“It’s Katherine. Katherine Clive. Kathy.”

“Kath. Kathy. And everything you’ve just told me about yourself?”

“Aw, I’m sorry, I was just havin’ a bit of fun. Had you going though.” She winked playfully.

“Sure did,” he laughed, pleased to have peeled away one layer of subterfuge already. “Can I get you a refill?” He asked, gesturing to her glass.

“Hmm, I think I’ll go for something else. What are you having?”

“Whiskey.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Nah. Can I get a gin tonic?”

‘Katherine’, it seemed, was an architect, in France for a month-long course on European post-modernism. She sounded pretty knowledgeable on the subject, though it wasn’t Sterling’s expertise. He went back to digging after backstory again. Apparently, she was an only child, and had imagined her childhood friends as Christy’s sisters instead.

“I always wanted to have a sister,” Kathy said. “Cause it’s like a built-in-buddy, right? But my parents thought one kid was enough. So I was kinda relieved to make some good friends in secondary school.”

“Secondary school?” Sterling repeated.

“Yeah?”

He swirled his drink experimentally. “Only, most Americans go to highschool. Not secondary school.”

She froze. Then, her face broke into a grin. “Busted,” she laughed, her whole body relaxing from the prim posture she’d kept as ‘Kathy’. “I’m sorry, you were just so much fun to mess with the first time, I figured I’d keep it going. Good catch. I’m indeed actually British. Scottish, to be precise.” She held out her hand for him to shake. “Emma Wilson.”

He shook her hand, because it seemed like the polite thing to do. British after all then, though he wasn’t sure he believed her Scottish background yet. “Emma. You’ve got quite the mischievous streak.”

“Oh, gimme a break.” She reached over, took his glass out of his hand, and drained it of its contents. “So I like a bit of a laugh, so what.”

“Are… are you making fun of me?”

She regarded him for a moment, playing idly with the empty tumbler. Then, she firmly set the glass down and leaned back in her chair, crossing her legs.

“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice taking on a different accent he couldn’t quite place. “I shouldn’t take advantage of you like that.”

Sterling blinked, trying to wrap his mind around the rapid changes in personality she was suddenly displaying. He realised he’d already forgotten the first fake name she’d given him. He was pretty certain by now she was just playing him. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t still glean something from this interaction.

He leaned back, and crossed his arms, mirroring her pose. “You’re really being quite rude.”

“Oh, I know, it’s a terrible habit. It’s just… my parents moved us around a lot when I was younger, and I’ve gotten used to fitting in wherever I land. It’s a skill I like to keep sharp when I can.”

She looked genuinely apologetic. He wondered which part of her story he’d pick at first. He settled on; “Us?”

“My brother and I. John actually managed to settle down eventually, but I chose a job that sends me all across the world.”

“What kind of job?”

“I’m a representative for Coco Chanel. It sounds glamorous, but it’s mostly a lot of long meetings.”

“That’s quite the label. Might I have heard of you somewhere?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I’m Felicity Shaw.” She picked up her purse and produced an honest to god business card. Sterling was pretty sure he was in over his head by now. “But I get so tired of the façade I have to keep up. It was nice to pretend to be someone else for a while.”

“Several someone elses,” Sterling corrected curtly.

She smiled at him. “I’m sorry. I think I hurt your feelings.”

“I just don’t know who you are.”

“Oh sweetheart,” she said, a sparkle coming into her eyes. She leaned her elbows on the table between them and put her head in her hands. She looked up at him with big, shiny eyes. “I can be whoever you want me to be.”

Sterling just about tipped out of his chair. “Who ARE you?”

“Samantha Rivers.”

“What. NO. You were Felicity just a second ago. Stick to ONE cover story.” How was he supposed to figure out what was real when she kept switching roles?

“Ah, darling. Felicity is such a bore. Sammy can be way more fun for you.” She got to her feet, slightly wobbly. “Oh, I’m a bit of light-weight today I’m afraid,” she giggled. “I donated blood earlier today, so my tolerance is quite low at the moment. I’ll be right back love, don’t go anywhere.”

He watched her make her way to the bathroom. Now he was 100% sure. She was just toying with him. ‘Donated blood’, the ruddy nerve. How she’d known he was IYS, he didn’t know, but it didn’t matter. When she got back, he would get her to tell him something that was true. It was just a matter of time.

Two hours and at least half a dozen more acts in, he felt no closer to reaching his goal at all.

“Would you please just tell me your name. Just your real first name?” Sterling begged, grasping at straws.

“Amanda” she said, reluctantly, her thick tongue stumbling over the last syllable. 

“Amanda?”

“AmandLA,” she enunciated. Seeing Sterling’s confused look, she elaborated, in a perfect Californian accent, “Why do you think I keep changing it? My parents were idiots. I started switching names each year when people kept messing up my name. You can’t begin to imagine how much fun it is to have everyone in your highschool know you by a different name. The confusion was glorious!”

“How are you still this coherent?” He hadn’t even kept up with what she was drinking, and was feeling pretty far gone. And she’d been mixing her drinks, switching what she was drinking to match her latest personality. “I might even have bought that if not for the past couple of hours.”

She reached over and patted him softly on his cheek, like a mother comforting her petulant child. “You didn’t stand a chance, sweetie. Give my love to Nathan, all right? At least he had the good sense not to underestimate me.”

She got up from their table. Sterling realised he was about to lose his chance. “No, wait!” He shouted, grabbing her wrist.

Immediately, she straightened up to her full length, threw back her shoulders and lifted her head. “Unhand me, ruffian!” She exclaimed, at the top of her lungs, drawing stares from the last patrons of the bar. “I am the Duchess of Hanover and I will NOT be treated this way.”

Sterling let go, whether from shock or shame he wasn’t sure. The Duchess of Hanover huffed and turned around. She didn’t break or change character once as she walked to the exit, her bearing royal and unwavering. 

Sterling wiped his forehead, unsure of how he just weathered that maelstrom of personas. Maybe he would try to give this assignment back to Ford.


End file.
